Any Other Flower
by daydream1000
Summary: At the end of HBP, Pansy finds herself quite alone. The reflection of a girl who hopes she can rise above fate.


_I do not ownthe rights toPansy, her friends, or her situation. _

Any Other Flower

When I was a small girl, I used to play a game inside my head. I would do it in the park, on the platform waiting for trains, walking behind my mother. I would pretend I was invisible, that I could see all who passed by but they could not see me. It made me feel so alive, that I could do anything and it would not matter because no one would see or know it was me. I was free of myself, free of my pleated skirt and mary janes; free of who I was expected to be. I never actually did anything devious, but the possibility that I could was so exciting. To this day, when I walk alone, I still play that game.

My name is Pansy. The name has no definition save, 'a flower'. In art, pansies stand for love in vain. In an old story, a girl held pansies as she allowed herself to drown. She was in love with a boy, one who was too preoccupied with a mission and revenge to care for her.

I have a younger sister, called Leah. In another, even more ancient story, Leah was the less loved of two wives, her lovely sister preferred by their husband. I do not know if my mother did this in on purpose; if she wished lives of sorrow on her daughters, standing by a dark window and waiting for something more.

I do not like to think of myself as tragic.

I have a bad habit of attacking what I am envious of. There is a girl, in my year at school, that is much more clever and confident then I could ever be. So would I insult her and made sure to laugh aloud when she faltered. I told stupid lies about her. For a short time this was a funny game. But really, at the end of the day, I felt like the one-sided villain in a child's book. Like the ugly stepsister, the wicked one. Still, I did not change my ways.

I wish I were good at something. I am not particularly talented at anything, save doing what I am told and meeting simple expectations.

I have a secret desire to ice skate. For real, not just as a hobby. There are girls who win awards and medals for it. I suppose I am good, mother always let me practice because she thought it was graceful. I think there is nothing more beautiful or feminine. To me, as I glide across that ice, I am truly flying. I am beautiful. I can be anything; I can be brave, clever, and strong. I work hard at it, practice with passion. I am alone in a world that is just mine. I am young and invisible again, free of boundaries and expectations.

When I was twelve years old, I sat on a stool and waited to be judged. But the judgment was never passed. I did what was expected of me and asked to be placed. I shut my eyes tight and demanded it. To this day, I do not know if I deserved it or not. What if I had had just been myself? What if I had thought about only laughter and light and floating across the ice? If I had asked for nothing, what would I have received?

I would never say it aloud, but I pray for peace. I do not even know who I am talking too, but I raise my eyes to the heavens and silently plead. When I was fourteen, when that boy was killed, I locked myself in a toilet, sobbed and threw up. No one ever came to find me, to check if I was even all right.

I know darkness awaits us. I know the storm is coming. I want so much to survive. I have too, for Leah. I love my sister. I would do anything to protect her. She is too young for this, too young to understand. She is only ten... did I mention that? She matters more than I. In the past, on summer nights, I would rock her to sleep and sing her stories of goodness and light. I whispered about fairness and bravery. I told her to follow what is in her heart, something I never found the courage to do.

So what now, now that the safety and protection is gone? I cannot rely on mother; she is even more frightened than I am. I cannot rely on the ministry. The woman they sent when I was fifteen, who I thought could help me, just used us. I cannot rely on my friends; the one I though could protect me has fled. I suppose you cannot depend on men. My father ran as well.

I want to be that invisible girl, who can see the world without it seeing her. But no, this is not a game. This is not a fairytale. And despite my fears, I do have power. I have never really regarded myself as strong, but now I must be.

I do not know what the future holds; I have never really believed that divination is for real. The future is cannot possibly be determined by silly smoke in a glass ball.

All I have now is hope. I cannot to bow to darkness, all that brings is pain. I have seen that fist hand.

I want to think love is what truly matters in this world. It will not be in vain, I will not let it!

Let me now be any other flower. Make me daisy, for youth; make me poppy for remembrance; make me violet, which pleads for forgiveness.

I can fight the current, unlike the girl in the story. I will not flow with it, allowing the river to swallow me whole.

Again, I am choosing, and I choose Leah. She is the future, and that is all that matters anyway. She will not be the lesser of two options. And somehow, now, I am not afraid.


End file.
